The Mordian Campaigns

Ch-2: The Cost of Discipline

Author's POV

The aftermath of the battle hung thick over the Mordian encampment. As Colonel Havelock walked the muddy grounds, he could feel the weight of exhaustion in the air. The Iron Guard had held their line, but the cost was evident. The discipline of his men was undeniable; even now, they moved with the same precision as ever, but the cracks in their stoic armor were there if one knew where to look.

Guardsmen stood at their posts, lasguns held firmly, their uniforms immaculate despite the grime of war clinging to them. Some leaned just a little too heavily on their rifles, a telltale sign of unseen injuries, while others carried the weight of far more than physical wounds. Their eyes, usually sharp and focused, carried the dull sheen of men who had seen too much in too short a time. One soldier's arm was hastily bandaged, the blood still seeping through, but he maintained his post. Another had a burn scar creeping up his neck, the result of a near miss from a plasma burst, yet his stance was unbroken.

Havelock passed a soldier with a freshly sewn gash running across his face, the stitches crude and dark against his pale skin. Despite the clear pain, the man saluted crisply, his posture unyielding. For those who could still stand, there was no question of duty. Discipline was the lifeblood of the Mordian Iron Guard, and Havelock saw that even in the face of devastation, they held themselves to their standard. But beneath the surface, he knew the scars ran deeper than any could see.

Beyond the sentries, the wounded lay on cots under makeshift shelters. Medics moved briskly among them, their faces grim. Those too severely injured to stand-missing limbs, shattered bones, and burned flesh-lay in silence, their pain manifesting not in cries, but in the hollow stare of soldiers who had fought through hell and now found themselves alive in the aftermath. Some stared at nothing, their minds elsewhere, lost to the battle that had ended but had not truly left them.

The camp itself bore the scars of the recent fighting. Shell craters pockmarked the earth, and the blackened remains of a nearby Chimera transport served as a grim reminder of the battle's brutality. Despite the damage, the Iron Guard had erected their tents with the same strict precision as always, forming clean lines. Order, despite the chaos around them. For those still capable, camp duties were carried out without hesitation-lasguns cleaned, gear inspected, and rotations for guard duty handled without the need for raised voices. But even here, the fatigue was evident. The Mordians moved with the weary determination of men who had faced the abyss and would likely face it again before long.

Havelock allowed his eyes to drift over the scene, his own expression unmoving, though his thoughts flickered with the names of the fallen. He would remember each one.

A summons had come from the Krieg officer, and Havelock's path now led toward the edge of their own lines, into the trench network held by the Death Korps of Krieg. As he approached, the change in atmosphere was immediate and striking. Where the Mordian camp had a semblance of order and discipline amidst the wear and tear of battle, the Krieg encampment was something altogether different. It was dark, oppressive, and utterly devoid of anything resembling humanity.

The soldiers of Krieg moved in perfect silence, their gas masks permanently affixed to their faces, the eerie hiss of respirators the only sound as they went about their duties. Trenches ran deep and narrow, reinforced with the bones of the earth and lined with sandbags, creating an almost claustrophobic feeling as Havelock descended into them. Here, there were no signs of individuality, no glimpses of humanity behind the impassive masks. The Krieg were a machine, bred for war and sacrifice without question.

Where the Mordians carried their discipline as a point of pride, the Krieg seemed to have no such sense of personal honor. They did not fight for glory or recognition; they fought because that was all they knew. Havelock had heard the tales of how the Death Korps were raised-an entire culture built around war and death, where the ultimate sacrifice was expected and demanded. It showed in their encampment. There were no personal effects, no conversations, no expressions of grief for the dead. Just cold, unrelenting efficiency.

As Havelock entered the trench system, he passed several Krieg soldiers on duty. Unlike his own men, who stood at attention with an air of wounded pride, the Kriegers seemed like living statues-unfeeling, unthinking, eyes hidden behind the reflective lenses of their masks. They did not acknowledge him, and he offered no greeting. There was nothing to say to men who had long since abandoned any attachment to life.

Among them, the wounded were just as silent. The most severely injured were carried away without ceremony, their places quickly filled by those who could still stand. There was no hesitation in their movements, no sign of pain or reluctance, just the mechanical continuation of duty. Where the Iron Guard held onto some vestige of humanity, the Krieg had long since let go of such things.

Havelock pressed forward, his stoic expression betraying none of his thoughts as he made his way deeper into the Krieg encampment, toward the meeting tent where the officer awaited him. He had been summoned for a reason, and the presence of an unexpected "higher up" only added to the weight of whatever grim news lay ahead.

As he reached the heavy flap of the tent, he took a breath, squared his shoulders, and stepped inside. Entering the tent Captain Havelock was greeted by the familiar look of his allied officer.

"Wulfen. You requested me??" Havelock said as he announced himself to his fellow officer of the same rank. Looking up from the battle map below him, Wulfen look gave that famous Krieg stare. Like his men Wulfen also wore the infamous Krieg gas mask. But unlike his men he actually spoke to Havelock but still in that cold and emotionless tone.

"Yes..... Colonel Havelock.... there's much to discuss...." Wulfen said in that almost mechanical tone of his. Havelock expected this but didn't realize that in the shadows of the tent stood the creation of the god emperor's will. The massive figure stood fourth once he knew all participants of the meeting were present.

Havelock gripped the pommel of his Saber as the massive figure approached him. For some seeing the imposing figure before him would drop to their knees and bow to god emperor's creation..... but no not Havelock as an officer he knows all to well what the presence of these 'Angels' mean....

"Space Marines...." Havelock uttered out as he was now was looking up to the 8 feet tall Space Marine.

End of the chapter